Cross the Line
by newvagabond
Summary: Ratchet/Wheeljack. Nonsticky. Tactile. Plug-n-play. Cybertron. Pre-series, pre-war.


**A/N: Ratchet/Wheeljack. Nonsticky. Tactile. Plug-n-play. Cybertron. Pre-series, pre-war. **

This is set in the same direct continuity as A Good Distraction and Gonna Find Out Sometime. Technically it is part of a series, I suppose.

This was definitely interesting to write because they haven't become the characters we know in the show yet. Young medical student Ratchet is also the cutest thing ever to me.

As usual, John Legend lyrics are perfect for this type of fic.

_You've been my best friend _

_Can we put this to bed then?_

_Tonight's the night to cross the line_

_Baby, won't you be mine?_

* * *

Blunt metal digits smoothed over the surface of the sphere, tracing the lines of light around the small circle. One side red, one side blue. Though he'd already played the message three times, Ratchet couldn't resist pressing the button once more.

The covering of the sphere shifted in a small burst of light to reveal a beam which spread as an image formed out of pixel clusters. He could always make out the optics first, then that familiar smile. When the image completed, a happy tone sounded and a recording played.

_"It has been another ano-cycle, my friend..." _

Ratchet's mouthplate twitched into a small smile. In the message was a sincere apology for not congratulating him on his special day in person. Though Ratchet was disappointed, he knew the archivist had been traveling out of Iacon recently. It must be for something important. Maybe they could grab a cube when he returned or go for a drive in the chrome gardens.

_"May Primus grant you many vorns. I will see you when I return." _

The beam flickered out and gone was Orion Pax's hologram. The med student held the gift in his servo for a klik before setting it back on his desk with a wistful exvent. Another year of shy visits to the library and timid invitations to share fuel. How sad.

Ratchet activated his datapad to distract himself when his commlink activated.

"You better not be sober up there!"

The young 'bot nearly jumped. "I—was about to study, actually. I thought you worked?"

"What—_study?" _Wheeljack shouted, causing Ratchet to wince. "Off early. Get your aft down here. We're going out."

• • •

Ratchet tried to tell his friend that there was no need to take him out, but the big mech was hardly easy to dissuade. In the end the grinning laborer dragged the birthday boy into a completely different sector of the city; the kind that never went into recharge.

"To you," Wheeljack vocalized, clanking his cube and tossing it back.

Ratchet eyed his own cube of darkly colored fuel before working up the courage to slam it as well. When he coughed and choked, Wheeljack patted his shoulder armor and signaled to a drone for another round.

The high grade was already slowing his processing speed. His system was hardly built for unrefined energon, unlike his shot-happy companion. And he only ever indulged in high grade when Wheeljack was around, he was realizing. He was a student; he needed to stay healthy and focused. Purging deep blue slime was not going to help him pass exams. But... this was a special occasion, he supposed. And Wheeljack was his friend. He trusted him to make sure he didn't wake up in the gutters.

Two more cubes were set before them, crystals sizzling at the bottom. It burned glossa, made optics flush cleanser and warmth coil into every sensor. It was a little much, but felt good.

"Alright but _no more_," Ratchet protested, smiling into his servo despite himself. Wheeljack reached across the table and punched his arm.

"Lightweight."

Ratchet laughed and took another burning sip, crunching crystals with denta. Charge crackled on his antennae as a wave of intoxication heated his circuits.

"You got class tomorrow?" Wheeljack asked, letting a Vehicon light a multi-colored shard for him. The orange and white mech shook his head drunkenly in response.

"Good. I have a surprise for you."

Oh, no. Ratchet hated surprises. And he was already really buzzed. What could Wheeljack possibly have in mind? The last time he had a surprise they ended up owing credits in Kaon.

After his friend scanned the bill, they stepped out. Ratchet shivered. The night air felt like ice against his fueled up frame. He tried to follow after Wheeljack but seemed to get some motion controls scrambled and nearly tripped.

Wheeljack caught him with a laugh. "Whoa, sunshine," he laughed. "No vehicle mode for you. It's just at the end of the track. We can walk."

Ratchet barely remembered the walk there. Next thing he knew they were in a dim building where the lights pulsated and there was a low charge in the atmosphere that would tingle any mech's circuits.

"Where...?" Ratchet managed to vocalize, cycling his optics around.

"You'll see."

He needed to sober up. The med student could barely make out what Wheeljack was saying to the other 'bots there. Luckily soon they were sitting somewhere a little bit quieter. Only a little, the music still vibrated his plates. That was not good for his gurgling tank. He was confident he wouldn't purge, but to be safe he canceled out any pings his system was sending him. The moment he found cold, fresh coolant in his servo he downed it like he'd been stranded off planet for the last decade.

It was then that Ratchet felt a slim servo touch his helm. He blinked and looked up to see a very shiny aerial standing before him. Golden cockpit and wing-tips reflected beautifully in the dim booth. Didn't appear to be server class. Far too many mods. He looked to Wheeljack in confusion, and nearly dropped his cube as two slim mechs appeared to be sharing the 'bot's lap. What the—

"Wheeljack, where are we?" he vocalized suddenly over the music, plating flaring in surprise when the aerial before him settled between his knees.

Wheeljack had his hand settled firmly on the aft of a visored mech with gorgeous electric blue detailing. Ratchet's engine sounded involuntarily and the flyer touching his legs chuckled with what was a clearly modified vocalizer.

"Already paid for," Wheeljack answered, tilting his helm to allow the other 'bot access to his white collar plating. "Happy Birthday."

He felt tapered digits stroke under his ventral plating and his engine roared once more.

Wait. No, no, no. This wasn't okay, this wasn't how he—Primus, he should've known. He knew Wheeljack frequented these—_types _of places but he didn't expect this to be his present. He needed to get out. He needed air. He needed space.

"I'm sorry," Ratchet said, grabbing the worker's servos and pushing them away as he stood from the furniture. He turned and was out of the room fast, barely registering Wheeljack's call of confusion. Everything spun when he got to the lobby. His processor was tumbling, systems drenched, tank flipping, navigational software rebooting desperately. He saw several pairs of glowing optics on him and in a panic managed to find the exit before static began to white out his vision.

His HUD lit up with warnings. Like he needed them. He knew he was overheating and in danger of purging. Why did he accept a second cube? Or even a first one? Primus, and how rude to leave like that but... He put a hand to his helm as another wave of heat scorched across his net.

"Ratchet!"

He kept his helm down, as if that would prevent Wheeljack from spotting him.

"Hey, you alright?" Wheeljack tried to look at him but Ratchet kept cutting his optics away.

"I—just—" The 'bot peered around at the mechs staring at them and took a few stumbling steps towards a street orb. No, that wouldn't do, he wanted to hide. He tried to step away before a servo locked onto his arm. He had no choice but to look at Wheeljack now.

Optics were wide. Scared.

It said everything.

Wheeljack's concerned expression changed as realization dawned on him. "Wait, you..." He let go of Ratchet's arm slowly. "You never...?"

"No, I never," Ratchet snapped, drunk and humiliated and filled with guilt.

Wheeljack's ridges shifted to a peculiar angle and he settled his hand behind his own helm. "Scrap, Ratchet, I... I didn't know."

Ratchet didn't know what else he could possibly say. This was horrible and awkward and not what he expected to get out of turning another ano-cycle older. Slag it, all of it, everything. He needed to get home and forget about this and just get back to his studies.

"I'm going home," he said, vocals thick with static. One step and vision swam in a dizzying blur of color. He was online just long enough to feel Wheeljack catch him.

• • •

"Passcode, Ratch," he heard as he began to online. He was standing. Barely. There was a strong arm around his middle. With all his strength he muttered (thankfully) the correct code and let his optics close as he was helped inside.

His living quarters were small. A student didn't need more than a room with a shifting berth, desk and washracks. He groaned on the furniture, thankful it was in its upright position. Much to his reluctance, his processor began to work correctly as his systems booted up, thus reminding him of what had happened a mere hour before.

"Wheeljack, I—"

The 'bot shook his head, handing the student a small vial of coolant. Ratchet held it and lowered his helm in shame when his friend sat next to him. Luckily Wheeljack filled the silence.

"It was my fault," he said, and Ratchet blinked at him.

He wanted to say it was okay, that he forgave him but he was too fragging embarrassed to open his mouth to speak. So he elected to fill it with coolant instead.

After another quiet moment, Wheeljack looked at him with a sort of amused half-smile. "You really never...?"

Oh, stars. Ratchet offlined his optics and hid his face in his hands. "Is it really that hard to believe?" he asked with muffled vocals.

"It's just—" He failed to hold back a chuckle. "You're not a bad lookin' mech. And you're always at the library so I figured... Idunno, maybe one or two of your study buddies."

Ratchet squawked and looked up, optics lighting up again. One or _two_? Primus, he would be lucky if he ever got to hold hands with Orion much less share the berth with him. Especially now that he seemed to be so busy.

"Wow, no wonder you..." Wheeljack started but stopped himself when he saw his friend's expression go from sad to offended. He lifted a servo apologetically, and gave Ratchet's shoulder a demonstrative poke. Just mere inches from contact, a loud crackle and pop of static made the mech retract his hand.

"You drag static everywhere you go. All I'm sayin'."

Great galaxies, Ratchet had never been so mortified in his life. With a groan he looked down again and wished he could just fizzle away.

"Sorry, Ratch," Wheeljack said, rubbing the back of his helm again. Shit, this had not gone how he planned. Ratchet was always studying, always stressing. All he wanted to do was take him out and show him a good time and now he felt like such a slagger. They were good friends and he was always telling Ratchet about his hook-ups but it never occured to him that he was... well. Holding onto his warranty.

"It's alright," Ratchet said, voice so static laden that it crackled. Mouthplate fixed into a thin line before he hid his face once more. His energy field wavered and Wheeljack felt even guiltier. He didn't know what he could do to make it up to him. Maybe just being there would be enough.

"Hey," the mech vocalized, scooting closer on the furniture. Very gently he moved those hands away from faceplate. Ratchet looked at him.

Ventilations halted. Fields stilled. Optics were puzzles of azure.

Before either processor could register the thought, their mouthplates connected. Surprised and charged ventilations filled their audials.

Though Wheeljack smiled his sensors detected a telling quiver in his friend's energy field. A steady palm came to the mech's orange and white chestplate, fingers spreading slowly. Underneath plating was a thrumming spark, spinning like a newspark's fresh from the well.

Ratchet was terrified.

"You okay?" Wheeljack asked, his voice low and careful.

The other squeezed optics shut for a moment but nodded. "Y-Yes."

Wheeljack maintained eye contact and smoothed his hand down to where ventral armor and hips met. He felt a jump in plating and waited for Ratchet to give him the okay.

To his surprise, the med student tugged him in for a soft helmbutt. Any form of osculation seemed to calm Ratchet's field, so Wheeljack butted him right back and settled his hand on a white thigh.

Plates shivered as a finger pressed against a seam. On an exvent the plates parted enough to allow Wheeljack's finger to slip between them, and the resulting skitter of energy made Ratchet gasp.

After another gentle contact of helms, Wheeljack slipped his arm around the 'bot's lower back and in a swift movement pulled him onto his lap. Ratchet's optics cycled in surprise and with an audible click his fans activated. Wheeljack laughed a little and Ratchet shut him up by nipping at his mouthplate.

Well that was unexpected. And nice. The laborer reciprocated with kisses and exploring servos. He found one particular cluster of sensors at a hip seam that made Ratchet shiver and he manipulated it until the mech groaned shyly into his audial.

Frag, his own fans activated hard. The high grade was still diluting their fields, making everything loose and warm and nice. Didn't help that Ratchet was so full of static he could probably jump start an entire console.

Here was the turning point. He could feel Ratchet's plates wanting to shift, a field begging for connection and release. He pulled from a kiss and with a gentle hand pushed Ratchet so that he was sitting up straight. A thumb stroked under his chest plate.

Ratchet knew what it meant. After a moment, he shut his optics and with a series of clicks revealed a port above his hip.

Wheeljack stilled his hand and looked at his friend.

"You sure?" he asked.

Ratchet nodded still with his optics closed. Wheeljack pinched a plate slightly to get him to open them. The med student blinked, pursing lip plates together.

"Positive?" Wheeljack asked again.

"Yes," Ratchet answered ardently, field snapping in exasperation.

With a soothing touch to the helm, Wheeljack shifted for his panel. He let Ratchet plug in first, exhaling a whoosh of air at the prickle of static already hitting him.

He gave Ratchet a moment as he pulled an adapter from subspace and fitted it onto his own interface cable. He didn't miss how his friend's optics had widened. In a gentle wash he let his energy field cover Ratchet, letting him know it was okay.

Wheeljack brought his cable out further and waited for his partner to nod. With a click he connected and every plate on Ratchet's frame tightened in a fizzle of static. He held onto Wheeljack like he was a floatation device.

The stronger mech groaned at the uneven feedback he was getting, crackling his circuits so pleasurably. Ratchet was clearly seeing stars, a dazed moaning mess on his lap.

"Here," Wheeljack ground out through denta, trying to shift his friend. He held onto his waist and ground his hips up slowly. Ratchet seemed to be suffocating from stimulation, plates contracting and releasing rhythmically.

Scrap. Maybe they needed to change positions. Very carefully Wheeljack held onto the other mech, lowering them onto the furniture. He settled on top of him and was slammed with jittery pleasure from their link as Ratchet writhed under him.

"_Ahh_—"

Blue arcs of energy leapt out from Ratchet's frame. That would be overload imminent. Oops. Wheeljack quickly grabbed hold and ground him into the sofa-berth. Ratchet all but melted. His vocalizer crackled in a broken cry as a fast, hard overload ripped through him, the buildup of static so powerful that the light strips above them flickered.

Wheeljack groaned loud on top of him, dragged down by the force of the release into his own dizzying overload.

Suddenly his optics onlined. When had they gone off? Ratchet was beneath him, still shaking from release but looking at his partner anxiously. Wheeljack sat up, HUD pinging him for coolant and maybe a smoke. He helped Ratchet unplug and once settled, pulled a rounded shard of unrefined energon from subspace.

Damn. Talk about fried circuits. He took a long drag and saw that Ratchet was staring at the floor. Carefully he put a hand on his friend's shoulder, but Ratchet jumped a bit anyway.

"Hey, doc," Wheeljack said, almost a question.

Ratchet may usually have snorted at the nickname but at the moment he wanted to hide. How embarrassing. His first time and all he had been able to do was lay there like some—some sparkless protoform. Wheeljack had probably fragged retail drones that lasted longer than him.

He pushed the hand away and felt his optics burn.

Wheeljack's ridges rose. Uh-oh. Didn't he enjoy it too? Scrap. He backed off. Maybe this had all been a bad idea.

"I'm sorry," Ratchet said suddenly, and it was back to hiding his face.

Wheeljack blinked and pulled the shard from his mouth. "Huh?"

Ratchet said something into his hands that sounded suspiciously like _I'm a dead frag._

Ohhh. Wheeljack shook his head with a grin as he put out his smoke. "Sunshine," he vocalized, unable to hold back a little laugh. "Ratchet. Look at me."

The med student rubbed under his optics and looked at his friend, faceplate marred with embarrassment. To his surprise he found himself wrapped up in an entirely platonic hug and blinked wide.

Wheeljack squeezed him. "It was good," he said simply.

Ratchet snorted, burying his face in his friend's collar. "You don't have to lie to me."

The big mech pulled back from the hug with a straight face. "Hey. You know I've been around. Remember that one a few weeks ago?"

Despite the cleanser in his eyes, Ratchet's mouthplate twitched. "The masseur," he confirmed.

"Yeah," Wheeljack said, whistling. "Long legs. Great aft. Lousy in the berth. So predictable. Boring. But you—It was different."

Ratchet looked down shyly. "So," he started, fidgeting. "You felt..."

"Good? Frag yeah." Wheeljack punched his friend on the shoulder maybe a bit too hard. Ratchet winced but smiled and it meant everything.

"C'mere," the laborer said, grabbing Ratchet and getting a squawk out of him. He nuzzled him with helm until the student laughed and they spent a good klik wrestling. After knowing Ratchet for this long he knew how to get him smiling.

"Ow, ow."

"Oh, c'mon, that doesn't hurt!"

"You're on my—hey!" Ratchet flailed and accidentally smacked a button on the sofa. With a whirr it shifted into berth-mode and both 'bots bonked their heads together.

Wheeljack's hand was on chestplate again. The vibration beneath was strong, but not the same fearful spinning as before. Ratchet's field was warm again.

There weren't any words this time. No rushing. Wheeljack hovered, servos smoothing and pressing, loosening up every plate as their mouthplates scraped together in slow caresses. Digits dug under seems, found sensitive cables, scratched under every sensor nodule. Their fields throbbed, their fans worked noisily.

When the buildup reached its maximum, Ratchet gasped and gasped, gripping his partner as the crashing energy sparked deep inside in a comforting overload. The proximity and expression on Ratchet's face was enough to pull Wheeljack in as well.

As coolant ran through their systems and lights deactivated, the two mechs powered down into soft recharge.

And when morning came, Wheeljack quietly stepped about to pick up around the flat. He reached across the desk to grab a stray cube and his wrist knocked something round over. The mech scrambled to grab the object as it fell. He squinted at the blue and red sphere before setting it back down.

Before he slipped out, he glanced at his friend still asleep on the berth. Orange and white plates were relaxed and there wasn't a fizzle of excess static to be found. Wheeljack smiled.

Happy Birthday.


End file.
